


Please, please, please, let me get what I want

by Squidbittles



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternative Universe - different teams, Cabin Fic, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Road Trips, Russia With Geno, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidbittles/pseuds/Squidbittles
Summary: After a disappointing early playoff exit, Sid takes off on the European tour he's always wanted but never had the chance to do. Before heading home, he makes one last detour to Moscow, and to the man who'd always left him wondering, "What if?"
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 122
Collections: The 2020 Sid/Geno Exchange





	Please, please, please, let me get what I want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sixappleseeds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixappleseeds/gifts).



April is wet and miserable and it ends with a whimper, much like Sid’s season. There’s nothing good about a first-round playoff exit, even one that a struggling, injured Penguins team pushed to seven games. He’s proud of his team, proud of the way they battled, proud of their determination, but he’s also tired. They all are. 

He’s not happy about their truncated Cup run, but maybe he’s not as upset as he might have been a few years ago.

Sid takes a few days, does his locker clean out, his interviews, says all of the right things; he sends his rookies off to their families, sees off a few of his teammates on their way to Worlds, and then he heads home.

There’s always a little something special about the first breath of Nova Scotian air, the way the sky looks when he walks out of the airport, the squeal of the belts on his mom’s car when she pulls into the arrivals lane and honks once, like he somehow won’t see her otherwise. He doesn’t bother hiding his grin, just throws his bags in the trunk and hops in the front seat, like he’s ten again. She leans in and he gives her a quick peck on the cheek; she reaches over and ruffles his hair, checks her mirrors, and then guns it out of the drop off lane.

“Jesus, Mom.” Sid white knuckles the door handle.

“Language, Sidney,” she chides.

“Turn signals, Mom,” he replies. 

“Hmph. I’ve seen those videos on Youtube of you driving in Pittsburgh.”

“ _Mom_.”

“ _What_?”

They bicker gently back and forth until they get to the lake house, Trina giving him the downlow on all the latest happenings in his parents’ friend group, interspersed with Sid’s commentary on his Pittsburgh life and friends. It’s as much a part of his routine as anything else, and he’s once again struck by how much he misses this during the regular season.

“Dinner’s at 7, if you wanna stop by later, sweetheart,” Trina says as he slides out of the front seat. 

“I’ll let you know.” Sid grabs his bag out of the back and has just enough time to close the door before Trina’s waving and the tires spit gravel at him. He shakes his head and gets out his keys. As he walks in, Sid feels another little piece of himself slot back into place. 

***

He doesn’t quite make it a week before he starts looking up flights to Europe. Mike laughs at him when he mentions it over the grill Sunday night. 

“What are you waiting for, man? Just go.”

Sid shrugs, flipping the burgers. The sizzle of fat as it drips into the coals is a particular kind of satisfying. “I dunno. I just got back. It feels weird to leave so soon.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes before Mike speaks again. “You’re usually not home so early. Maybe that’s why you’re restless.”

From anyone else, he might take it as a dig, but not from Mike. He nods. “I think...yeah, maybe.”

“So where are you thinking?”

“Spain, Italy, maybe Amsterdam, Prague? Norway?” Sid plates up the burgers and Mike pops open two more beers. “I don’t know - there are all these places out there that I wanna see, or places I’ve been for a tournament and never get to really explore.”

“All that history~” Mike teases, and Sid socks him in the arm. “Nerd.”

“I’ll spit in your burger, see if I don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He makes grabby hands and Sid passes over his plate with an eye roll. “I think you should do it. You’re healthy, you’ve got the time. You can spend a month over there and still have plenty of time left to come home and have your normal summer routine.”

Sid cuts his eyes over to Mike and takes a huge bite of his burger. “You think?”

“Dude, we’re having beef not see-food,” Mike says, pretty judgy for a guy Sid watched chug a Mic Lite so fast he spilled it down the front of his shirt. Sid opens his mouth all the way just long enough to prove he’s a mature 5 year old. “I’m going to tell your mom she raised you wrong, Cros.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Sid says after he swallows. Just in case. They finish the remainder of their burgers and beers, as the sound of summer frogs rises around them. Sid doesn’t mention the trip again, and Mike doesn’t push him about it. 

When he gets a text from Sid the next day that just says, _Flight to Barcelona Sunday_ , Mike just sends him a thumbs up.

***

Sid spends three days in Barcelona, trying to see a little bit of everything - he goes to the Palau de la Musica, sits in front of the Sagrada Familia and soaks it all in. He runs through museums, spends the evenings in charming bistros and half-heartedly jogging on the beach. Thursday morning, he takes the first train out and heads for Marseille.

After Marseille, he rents a car and drives the five hours through the mountains to Turin. He spends the night and before he leaves in the morning, he goes to Pala Alpitour. He stands outside - there’s an advertisement for an upcoming concert outside the building, the juxtaposition of new against the memories of what might have been. 

Sidney stares at the building for a long moment, and then he leaves the past behind, driving down towards the coast and the scenic route to Rome. He stays in a quiet hostel and wanders around with droves of other tourists, taking in as many sights as possible, overwhelmed with the way the city feels, the deeply ingrained and prominent history everywhere. He knows he could probably spend most, if not all of his vacation here, but he only gives himself a week.

He leaves reluctantly, but still on schedule, continuing to make his way through Europe by train - Italian countryside climbs back into the Alps, giving way to Switzerland and a quick stopover in Zurich before heading to Vienna. From Vienna, it’s Prague and a host of fond tournament memories. Sid spends four days walking the city and adding new memories. Berlin gets another two days before he gets dropped into Amsterdam and the city grabs hold and doesn’t let go until his flight for Oslo. 

Sid rents another car and makes the trek first thing in the morning from Oslo to Geiranger and then along the scenic route he found on Norway’s tourist site. He spends the night in a little bed and breakfast near the Atlantic and lets the ocean lull him to sleep.

By the time he finally gets to Stockholm, it’s been just over a month since he left home. He’s got a list of places to visit from Horny, and he takes a few days to hop between islands and districts. He’s sitting at a little outdoor cafe near the water when he realizes that he’s really got to figure out what he’s going to do next. He’s got maybe another month before he needs to get serious about his training, and he’d been planning on heading home after Stockholm.

He’s seen so much already, even if it had been a bit of a whirlwind. He’d planned everything so quickly, he hadn’t really accounted for the sheer amount of _stuff_ he had wanted to see. He was exhausted, but still. Sid sips his beer and stares out onto the water, watching as a ferry chugs by. He pulls out his phone, opening up his maps app and staring at it. 

His appetizer comes, along with another beer, and Sid nods once, decision made. He sends a text and then digs into his food.

***

Sid carefully makes his way from his gate to the luggage carousel. Gonch said that his friend would be waiting for Sidney here, and he takes a moment to survey the area, trying to find the man. He has a name and a vague description: _tall, brown hair, wears terrible tee-shirts, I don’t know he’ll have a sign, Sidney_ , but Sid hadn’t had the guts to tell Gonch that he already knew exactly who he was looking for. 

He doesn’t see who he’s looking for - there are a few people with signs and even more terrible tee-shirts, but not the person he’s expecting. He focuses on finding his luggage instead, and ends up standing off to the side, eyes on the doors and waiting for someone he’s only ever seen across international ice and in grainy YouTube videos.

It’s another ten minutes before a tall man catches Sid’s eye - he bursts through the main doors, hair wild and unkempt, a pink posterboard sign clutched tightly in his large hands. He looks around frantically until he turns just far enough around to catch sight of Sid. His entire face changes, mouth spreading into a wide grin and Sid’s breath catches in his throat. The man marches towards where Sid is leaning against the wall and Sid straightens quickly.

“Sidney Crosby,” he says, holding his hand out. “Evgeni Malkin; Sergei sends me.”

Sid straightens and returns both smile and handshake. “Hey, nice to meet you. Thanks for meeting up with me so last minute.” 

“Is no problem. Sergei says Sidney Crosby needs a Russian guide for Russian trip, and I’m guy.” Evgeni grabs the handle of Sid’s suitcase before he can protest and leads them outside. There’s a flashy sports car waiting for them and Evgeni tosses the suitcase into the tiny trunk - it barely fits, but he doesn’t seem super concerned about it.

“Oh, thanks,” Sid says. He feels a little out of his depth, unsure how to approach telling Evgeni that he already feels like he knows him. “Gonch- uh, Sergei said that you two used to play together?”

“Gonch fine,” Evgeni says, motioning towards the passenger door. “I’m know hockey names.”

Sid stares at the bucket seat for a moment and says a small prayer before he attempts to squeeze into the passenger side. He thinks that he hears Evgeni stifle a laugh, but he can’t prove it. It’s a tight fit, but he manages, making sure to buckle his belt before he shuts the door. Evgeni slides in a moment later, and Sid’s not sure which is more impressive, that he can fit his own ass into the seat, or that he manages to find room for his mile-long legs. 

“I’m play with Gonch in Magnitogorsk,” Evgeni says, the nickname rolling easily off his tongue. He glances over at Sid and gives him a shit-eating grin. “And on national team, Sidney Crosby.” He doesn’t wait for a response, just glances over his shoulder and zips into the flow of traffic. 

“I remember,” Sid says, once he’s got a firm grip on the oh-shit handle. "The World Juniors...2010 Olympics…"

"World's, too. And 2014. Miss seeing you in PyeongChang."

Sid grimaces as Evgeni takes a sharp turn. "Yeah, I missed it too. Bet you didn't miss the outcome, though, huh?" 

Evgeni laughs. "It was hardly a fight when Canada doesn't have Crosby." And that's nothing that Sid hasn't heard before, from friends, from family, from a hundred TV pundits and reporters, but it feels different somehow coming from Evgeni. 

"Well, I don't know about that," he finally says, feeling his cheeks heat. "But I sure did miss it. There's nothing quite like the Olympics."

"Not even the Stanley Cup?" 

Sid laughs. "It's...I'm not even sure how you compare the two."

Evgeni takes another quick turn and strafes across two lanes of traffic and Sidney swears that he'll never give his mother grief about her driving again. It's easy to talk hockey with Evgeni, even if Sid's Russian is non-existent and Evgeni's English is occasionally colorful; outside the car, the scenery keeps getting greener and the woods thicker as they head away from Moscow. 

***

When Gonch had told him that Evgeni had a cabin outside of Moscow, Sid wasn't sure what to expect - maybe a shack, maybe some kind of cabin-mansion like he's seen some of his teammates get over the years...hell, he doesn't even know enough about the area to tell if he's going to be in the wilderness or in some kind of planned lake community. What he sees when they pull up is something else entirely.

It's definitely not a mansion, but it's still a sizable log cabin. It reminds him of something he'd see back home, almost, and it's more comforting than he'd like to admit. The land itself is familiar too - trees press in around the building, and he can hear the soft sound of running water somewhere, maybe a small river. For a moment, he can envision what the place looks like in winter, covered in snow, smoke coming out the chimney and picturesque as hell.

They exit the car, and despite feeling like he’s having to wrestle his ass away from the confines of the bucket seat, Sid still manages to grab his suitcase first this time, manfully ignoring Evgeni's pout. 

"You're make me terrible host," he grumbles and Sid smiles. 

"You're letting me stay here for free and you offered to take me around Moscow...I think I can carry my own bag in exchange." 

" _Free_?! Did Gonch tell you that? Lies!" Evgeni unlocks the front door and sweeps it open, and Sid would be worried, but he thinks he's already starting to pick up on Evgeni's tells. "Welcome," Evgeni says with a broad gesture and a cheeky grin. "Happy to show my new maid around." 

"Oh, ha ha," Sid says, following him inside. 

The interior is just as welcoming as the outside, warm tones, leather furniture, plush rugs. Evgeni gives him a quick tour - kitchen, living room, bathroom, master bedroom, guest bedroom, and leaves Sid to unpack with another one of those encompassing grins.

“You like steak? I’m grill.” He disappears before Sid can respond, and Sid just shakes his head and turns to his suitcase. He unpacks and grabs a quick shower and when he emerges from the guest room, he feels like a new man. The room itself is spacious, the bed a full king that Sid looks at longingly for a full minute. He resists the urge to take a nap in favor of dinner, though. He’s better off staying awake through any lingering jet lag.

The smell of grilling meat wafts through the cabin, and Sid follows it through the living room, into the kitchen, and out the open glass doors. Evgeni mans the grill on the brick patio, and Sid discovers that he was right about the river. It flows fast and heavy, just too wide to be a creek.

“Do you get good fishing back here?” Sid asks, parking himself at the edge of the brick. It’s a little bit of a drop down the embankment, and combined with the deep green of the trees, it’s a stunning vista.

Evgeni shrugs. “Sometimes, but too fast right now. Maybe...July? When it slows down enough for fish.” He flips the steaks. “Almost done. You want water? Beer? Wine?” 

“Water’s great - something about airports always dries me out. Is it inside? Can I get you something?”

“Glasses are on counter - water in the fridge.” He holds up his own can of beer. “I’m good.” Sid pops back in and grabs his drink. “You like fishing?” Evgeni asks when he comes back out.

“Oh, yeah, I love it. I live on a lake back home - it’s not good for catching anything, but it’s still fun to try.”

Evgeni chuckles. “You want to fish here? Good Russian fish, _best_ fish are Russian, of course.” He plates the steaks and pulls the vegetable kebabs off as well, bringing both plates to where Sid’s taken a seat at the picnic table.

Sid grins and pulls his plate closer. “Of course they are.” They dig in, and Sid has to close his eyes and just savor the taste. “The steak sure is,” he says once he’s swallowed. Evgeni smirks a little and Sid swallows again, hard.

“Is because I’m make.”

“Ah, yeah, for sure.” Sid can feel his face start to heat up again, and he takes a sip of his water, wishing now that he’d gone for the wine instead. 

“Tell me about your trip,” Evgeni says, taking another bite of his steak. “What have you done already?”

So Sid does, finds himself relaying his travels, the places, the sights, the food, everything. And Evgeni laughs when Sid talks about getting lost in Amsterdam, makes all the right noises when he relays eating too much in Rome and he asks questions that make Sid remember things that he’d almost glossed over during his whirlwind of travel. 

They move from the table back inside as evening starts to fall and the temperature drops, Evgeni closing the lid on the grill and Sid grabbing their empty plates. 

“Sink?” Sid asks, and Evgeni nods.

“Wine now?”

“Yes, please.” Sid runs some water over their plates, and lets them soak. They move to the living room, the overstuffed leather couches calling a siren song. Evgeni sets their glasses down on the coffee table and starts the fireplace up.

“So,” he says, taking up his glass and plopping down on the other end of the couch from Sid. “Sergei say you’re wanting ‘authentic Russia,’ but I’m want you to tell me what you’re really want.”

And isn’t that really the question at the heart of everything? Isn’t that why Sid left Nova Scotia for parts of the world he’d always wanted to explore, alone - to have something for himself, to do something _just_ for himself?

“I think I want...I want to not be a tourist for a little while.” He takes a sip of his wine, savors the burst of flavor. 

Evgeni hums. “Burn out,” he says, and Sid laughs a little.

“It’s dumb, right? All I’m doing is traveling, seeing stuff...what’s there to be burned out on?”

“No, not dumb. You give, Sidney. You give to team, you give to city, you give to kids, you give everything to hockey.” Evgeni’s face is open, flushed, and Sid feels his own face heat in response. And again, it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, but there’s something about the sincerity in Evgeni’s voice, the way his eyes light up, the way that he teases Sidney like they’ve been friends for years and not for hours… “I’m think that’s burn out, too, yeah?”

Sid leans forward a little. “Yeah, maybe so.”

“Sergei didn’t say how long you’re stay, either?”

Sid licks his lips. “That’s because I haven’t decided.”

“Maybe you need recharge, just chill.”

“Just chill, huh? Maybe in a cabin by a river?”

“Barely a river, but pretty nice cabin, yeah?”

“Pretty nice, yeah. Relaxing.”

Evgeni smiles again, twists the stem of his wine glass in his huge hands, and Sid thinks, _God, am I really going to do this? Can I take this risk?_ But Evgeni’s a hockey player like Sid is; they haven’t talked about it, but they both know that in another life, they could have been teammates. 

Evgeni, Sid thinks, maybe understands him better than most people. He’s seen the press, seen the tape, remembers a season waiting for what might have been. He leans forward, closer still, and Evgeni…

Evgeni meets him halfway, lips soft and wet with wine. Sidney hasn’t had a lot of first kisses, all things told, but this one is...he tilts his head, Evgeni matching his movement, parting his lips just so, and it’s so easy, so much easier than he’d expected. Sid pulls back just a little, breathing too heavily for what was a pretty chaste kiss in the grand scheme of things. But his heart is pounding with something - fear, maybe, but the kind of fear that precludes an exhilarating fall.

Evgeni licks his lips, and Sid’s encouraged by the way his chest heaves a little, too, that it isn’t just him feeling this way.

“Is this -” he starts, and Evgeni cups his cheek with a calloused hand.

“Feels good, yeah?” he asks, voice soft.

Sid nods. “Feels great,” he says. “Do you want to uh. Do you want to go to bed?”

“For sleep or…” Evgeni smirks a little and Sid returns the expression, runs his hand up Evgeni’s thigh. He thinks about being coy, but Sid’s always been a direct sort of guy when it matters most, and this, this definitely matters.

“I want to have sex with you,” he says, and watches Evgeni’s nostrils flare, his pupils dilate. He stands abruptly, and before Sid can second guess that maybe that had been _too direct_ afterall, Evgeni grabs his hand and hauls Sid off of the couch.

“Go, go let’s go,” he mumbles, herding Sid towards the master bedroom, hands hot against Sid’s hips. Sid laughs, startled and so pleased, and lets himself be gently pushed. Evgeni’s bedroom is enormous, and even so the bed takes up a good portion of it. It’s piled with pillows and looks as cosy as the rest of the house. There’s a door leading to an ensuite and what looks like a second fireplace tucked catty corner from the bed. It’s dim - the only source of light coming from a lamp on one of the bedside tables, but Sid can make out clothes scattered around. 

It feels lived in. He likes it.

“Ignore mess,” Evgeni mutters, tucking his face into the back of Sid’s neck, nosing under the collar of his shirt just enough to get lips on skin. 

“You weren’t expecting company?” Sid laughs, twisting in Evgeni’s hold, and pressing another kiss to his lips. He goes for it this time, all tentativeness gone. He has to go up on his toes for a moment, just until Evgeni gets the picture and dips his head down. He licks into Evgeni’s mouth, is met eagerly, and he’s barely aware of Evgeni continuing to herd him towards the bed until he feels the mattress against the backs of his knees. Sid twists, uses his lower center of gravity to change their positions and Evgeni topples like a tree with a startled bark of laughter.

“I’m not expect Sidney Crosby to seduce me,” he says, pushing up onto his elbows, tongue pressed cheekily between his teeth.

“Oh really?” Sid asks, scrambling to tug his shirt over his head and unbuttoning his jeans. He leans forward enough to sneak another kiss and Evgeni makes a noise, torn between kissing back and getting his own shirt off.

“Not expect,” he gasps as Sid’s fingers skate along his sides, taking his tee-shirt along with them. “But I hope for.” Together, they manage to worm Evgeni’s shirt the rest of way off, Sid losing his balance at the last second and collapsing in a fit of laughter. They kiss breathlessly, and Sid squirms when Evgeni thumbs a nipple experimentally. 

“Jesus,” he mumbles into the side of Evgeni’s neck. “God, I -” He moans as Evgeni manages to wriggle his hand into Sid’s pants.

“Pants too tight,” he says, palming Sid’s dick.

“Off offoff _off_ ,” Sid chants, shimmying his hips frantically. Evgeni hisses as Sid inadvertently grinds against him.

“I’m come already, you keep it up,” he gasps, but he uses his hands to help drag denim and cotton downward, getting distracted when he tries to get them over Sid’s ass. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, squeezing bare flesh. “Sid _ass_.”

“You’re one to talk,” Sid says, finally able to kick out of his jeans and underwear. “Your ass is _obscene_ , Jesus.”

“You like?” He leans up just enough to mouth at Sid’s collarbone.

“ _Yes_.”

“You wanna fuck?”

Sid pulls back just long enough so he can think. “I thought we were -”

Evgeni’s smile is slow, heated in a way that makes something in Sid’s guts ache. “No, Sid. You’re fuck my ass? You want?”

Sid’s dick twitches, blurting precome that drips onto Evgeni’s hip. “I... _can_ I? You’d let me?”

“ _Please_ , Sid.”

He groans, nods. “Yeah, yeah okay. Let’s...we’re gonna do that, okay.” He rolls to the side so they can even the playing field and get Evgeni’s pants off, too. It’s ridiculous - bouncing around on the overstuffed bed, scrambling for purchase against the sheets and laughing when his pants come off, but not his socks. Evgeni grabs the lube with a ridiculous eyebrow waggle and Sid tackles him back against the pillows. He’s never had sex like this - never laughed so much with another partner, never felt so comfortable with all of the awkward parts of getting naked together, of figuring out positions and each other’s bodies.

When he finally sinks into Evgeni, he’s out of breath, from laughter, from joy, from the intensity of Evgeni underneath him, splayed out on his stomach, one long leg hitched over Sid’s thigh. He has to close his eyes against the sight of Evgeni’s eyelashes brushing delicately against his cheek, the way his lips part and his hands clench desperately at the sheets.

He thrusts, slow and measured, belying the way he feels - wild and out of control. He gasps against Evgeni’s shoulder, presses teeth into the tender flesh of his neck, tastes the salt of sweat and meets Evgeni’s soft cries with moans of his own as he crests and plummets into orgasm.

***

It’s easy, still, to curl up together later under warm sheets. The dishes are still in the sink, wine glasses on the coffee table, but all of that can wait until morning. Sid lets himself enjoy the feeling of Evgeni’s arm around his shoulder, of the gentle rise and fall of his chest underneath Sid’s ear.

“I went to Turin,” he says, finally, when he’s just relaxed enough that it doesn’t feel like a confession, just a conversation. “I mean, I didn’t _go_ , obviously, but I went, before I got to Rome.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t tell anyone, not even my mom. I think...I didn’t want people to think I was going to punish myself.”

“You’re go to remember, yeah?”

Sid sighs, breath ghosting over the tiny patch of chest hair between Evgeni’s pecs. “ _Yes_ , exactly that. It’s not my failure, they were never going to put me on that team so young, but it’s a reminder, I think. Of what could have been, of the things I can control. I don’t know.”

“Why you’re tell me, Sid?” Evgeni tangles long fingers in Sid’s hair.

“Because I thought you’d understand, even when I’m not sure I fully understand myself.”

“I do.” They’re quiet together for long enough that Sid’s hovering somewhere in that sweet spot between awake and asleep, when Evgeni murmurs, “I think, every year. What happens I go to Pittsburgh? If they don’t - if I _leave_. What if...”

His voice rattles something loose in Sid’s chest because he’s thought it too, can only imagine the frustration, the fear, the uncertainty between staying and going, between his home team, his country, his family, his career. “Evgeni -”

“I’m...my career is good, so good. We win.”

“But you’re always gonna wonder.”

“Yeah.” He presses a quick kiss to the top of Sid’s head, and Sid squeezes him a little closer. There’s nothing to say to that, nothing that can turn back the clock or change history. Sometimes, Sid knows, it just has to be enough to acknowledge it. 

***

Sid and Evgeni spend five weeks together in the cabin by the river. Some days they drive into Moscow, take in a museum that Sid’s been eyeballing, or to hit up restaurants that Evgeni insists Sid will love. They spend evenings in the banya, or by the fire and sometimes they’re accompanied by leisurely blowjobs, sometimes not. They walk through historic districts, and Sid shops for little knicknacks to mail back to Trina and Taylor; they walk through rundown small town mainstreets and grab incredible food from street vendors. They go fishing in the river when the water calms down, and spend the whole afternoon trying to push each other into the frigid water. They drive out to the lake and _actually_ catch fish a few times, and Evgeni only bitches a little about having to clean them because Sid’s a master at grilling out fish. Some days they just lounge around the house.

He calls his folks once a week and tells them he’s having fun, that he’s relaxing and that he’s happy.

And he is. He’s happier than he’s been in what feels like a decade, and he knows that part of it’s because of Evgeni. He knows that there’s a deadline they don’t talk about, too.

He stays through the beginning of July. Misses Canada Day and the 4th, and doesn’t really care except that he knows he’s only putting off the inevitable, knows that Evgeni has to get back to his training schedule soon, too.

Evgeni drives him back to the airport when it’s finally time, and Sid tries to live in the moment, tries to make the most of their last bit of time together, but he can’t help but wonder if this summer, these last few weeks, are going to be another ‘what if’ moment. 

They don’t kiss in the drop off lane - they said their goodbyes back at the cabin, but Evgeni does lean over the console and give Sid a quick hug, fingers just a little too tight around his shoulder. Sid breathes in his now-familiar cologne, the unique smell of his skin under it, and exhales shakily. 

“Contract year,” Evgeni says when they pull apart. 

Sid blinks, his heart ratcheting into gear. He clears his throat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Who knows what happen.” Evgeni smiles that broad grin that makes Sid weak, and Sid returns it.

“I guess we’ll see, then, huh?”

“Yeah. Go catch flight, Sidney Crosby.”

“I...yeah. Okay. Thank you, Evgeni.” 

Evgeni waves him off, like it’s nothing, like these past few weeks weren’t everything - but they both know the truth. “Get fat ass out my car.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes, but is still smiling as he grabs his bag from the trunk and heads into the airport. He doesn’t look back. 

***

There’s a text waiting for him when he touches down again, _See you soon._

**Author's Note:**

> This definitely started as a completely different fic, with a very different premise, but this is one of the rare instances where the characters just wanted to go a certain way. @Sixappleseeds I hope you enjoy this - even if it's not *quite* what your prompts suggested, they're absolutely what inspired this, and it was a blast to write! 
> 
> Thanks to the S/G Exchange Mods for another great event!


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